


tip of my tongue

by thatdamnedrogue



Series: you're my favorite song [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, it's. kind of shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16689730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamnedrogue/pseuds/thatdamnedrogue
Summary: A short fluffy thing wherein the Hunter, wounded, shows up to Alfred- and Alfred is determined to help him.





	tip of my tongue

     He should not have been there- that much the Hunter was sure of. His body ached with an exhaustion that didn’t want to let up no matter how much he rested in the Dream. There was no relief. Hack, slash, dodge, stab- it felt like the same dance over and over, never ending, never _changing_. But then- there was change, wasn’t it? Things seemed to get worse, and he realized that the only feeling heavier than the exhaustion was a sort of numbness.

      Maybe that was what drove him through Cathedral Ward to where the Executioner prayed. Every bit of him aching and exhausted, refusing to rest in the Dream, refusing the aid of a blood vial. Three villagers and a dog down- two more dogs up the stairs and the gunman-- He got sloppy. A bullet hit his shoulder and he staggered before swinging his saw cleaver anew. Two dogs down, dodging halfway up the stairs and slashing the teeth of his most loyal companion through the gunman’s chest. The body fell like a sack of potatoes, in a heap.

     The Hunter stepped over it, feeling blood run down his shoulder, soaking his shirt underneath, his jacket- and yet, he could not feel the pain. He… didn’t care. Or maybe it was just another reason he kept moving.

     His step on the stone was light enough- not that it mattered. Alfred knew he was coming, he’d heard the commotion of battle. Even engrossed in prayer as he was, the Executioner was always aware of his surroundings- one had to be, especially on the night of the Hunt. He was standing before the Hunter reached him, brows up when he saw the state the other man was in.

     “Rough night of it, friend?” Concern leaked through- though they’d had their fair share of conversations (Alfred talking, watching the Hunter sign his responses), it was still difficult to get a read on one another. But right at that moment, Alfred felt a spark of worry behind his sternum, stepping forward to brace the Hunter who just kept signing two words over and over- [ _I need_ ].

     The Executioner suspected whatever it was the good Hunter was trying to convey he _needed_ , it wasn’t in relation to the weeping wound upon his shoulder. “Perhaps you need a vial?” He suggested lightly, venturing closer to where the Hunter was leaning against the archway. At the shake of his head, Alfred paused, canting his own to one side. Green eyes studied the figure before him, who signed again, [ _I need_ ]. A polite chuckle as he reached out, gloved hand grasping the Hunter by the wrist and leading him over, guiding him to sit down.

     “Perhaps, if you so refuse blood, you’ll allow me to look at that wound, then?” Alfred suggested lightly, a smile still on his face. Mismatched eyes met green, studying the Executioner for-- _something_ , though Alfred could only imagine what. After a moment that seemed to stretch on before the Hunter nodded slowly, having found whatever it was he sought. The smile on Alfred’s face turned soft, gloved hands gently helping the Hunter to shed the layers blocking his shoulder, just enough to expose the wound. He supposed it was luck that the bullet had continued its path instead of staying in the Hunter’s shoulder.  

    Quietly, Alfred set about cleaning and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability- supplies were limited, given where they were, but he could do enough to get it patched up until he could convince the Hunter to follow him home for more than a quick field dressing. While he worked, the Hunter leaned forward a little, and by the time he’d finished, the Hunter’s forehead was against Alfred’s shoulder. The blond tried to keep his movements minimal, as to not jostle his companion- hoping perhaps the obviously exhausted Hunter had fallen asleep.

      No such luck.

      There was a hand twisted in the heavy fabric he wore, gripping tightly. The other hung limp as Alfred began to redress the Hunter’s shoulder. There was mumble from the smaller of them, and green eyes shifted to glance at what he could see of the hunter’s face- a long scar crossing over his right eye, the color faded to a pale blue. Absently, he wondered if the scar was _truly_ the cause of the mismatched shades, or if it had always been that way. He’d never bothered to ask, even though he’d noticed the difference before.

       “What is it you need, Hunter?” The question was spoken softly, given the proximity of the Hunter’s ear to his lips, but there was a firmness to it. He wanted to help, truly, but how could he if he didn’t know what the other man needed?

      The hand curled into his tunic loosened its grip until the fabric fell away from dirty gloves, fingers signing the same thing they’d been signing since the Hunter showed up. Alfred sighed through his nose- not out of frustration, but more because of disappointment.

      “Yes, I know you _need_ but what is it you need?” He could hazard a guess or five, but he would prefer if the Hunter just came out with it already, instead of continuously  signing the same thing over and over like a broken record. Realizing there was, perhaps, something harsh in that thought, Alfred sighed at himself, shifting and moving the Hunter with him. He sat properly, his back against one of the headstones, the Hunter leaning against his shoulder- but that position was short lived as the Hunter shifted into his lap.

      Well… That was surprising.

     Alfred’s brows arched- just what was the Hunter thinking? But it seemed innocent enough once the smaller man got comfortable, forehead pressed as close to the crook of Alfred’s neck as he could get with the Executioner’s layers. Alfred sighed softly, his hands resting on the Hunter’s lower back, a light but reassuring grip. “I’m here.” It’d been sometime since he’d had to comfort anyone, but memories flooded back of his youth. There was a time he’d held someone close like this, though not _quite_  the same way. This was… definitely different on a lot of levels, but that thought was interrupted by the Hunter’s grasping of his clothing, fingers curling, fists tugging, then releasing, then repeating the process.

      Alfred decided that the other man was unwell, most definitely, perhaps further than the wound upon his shoulder. After a few moments of silence, with the Hunter repeating that strange motion (perhaps it was calming to him?), Alfred sighed through his nose, shifting- it took a bit to get into the right position before he scooped the Hunter up as gently as he could.

      “So sorry, friend, but you need rest, likely in a proper bed. Bear with me.” He smiled down at the man in his arms, who looked incredibly confused. Alfred set off, carrying him with ease. It wasn’t too difficult to cross through the Ward to his home, a lovely estate not far from the Grand Cathedral itself. Of course, carrying the Hunter made things a little harder than they’d have been otherwise, but Alfred still managed to get them through fairly unscathed- after all, he’d lasted this long on more than just skill! Only when they were before the door of his abode did he pause, shifting the Hunter in his grasp- enough to get the door open. Once they were inside, Alfred kicked the door closed behind him and carried the Hunter back to his bedroom, setting the man gently upon the bed.

     “Boots off, friend, I’d rather my blankets not get filthy,” it was said in jest, Alfred laughing lightly to prove so. As he made to move back, to give the Hunter space, he found his sleeve had been grabbed again, and the Hunter was doing that repetitive motion yet again. The blond smiled gently, one of his hands prying the Hunter’s from his sleeve so so carefully. “Come now, look at me.” His free hand tapped the Hunter’s chin, causing mismatched eyes to drift up to his face. He could see the moment the other man actually focused on him- a good tell he’d learned to pick up on some time ago, though he couldn’t recall where from. “There you are.”

     Confusion bloomed in the Hunter’s eyes as he withdrew his hand from Alfred’s, signing quickly, [ _what happened_?] The Executioner gave a small shrug, moving to sit beside the other once more.

     “You came to me, signing that you needed something. Wouldn’t let me give you a vial for your wound there,” he nodded towards the Hunter’s wounded shoulder. “Nor would you tell me what you needed, you just grabbed my coat and kept-- tugging, of sorts, though it was more grasp-tug-repeat.” For the sake of his companion’s recovering mental state, it seemed, Alfred left out the part where the Hunter had sat in his lap. It wasn’t anything, anyway.  

       A noise akin to a groan escaped the man beside him, who buried his face in his hands, likely in embarrassment. “Think nothing of it!” Reassurance as Alfred patted his back gently. “We’re friends, are we not? So you’ve nothing to worry over, I am glad to be of assistance.” And he meant it- he _was_. The Hunter had needed something, maybe still did, but at least he seemed a little more with it in the safety of Alfred’s home. “Now then. You make yourself comfortable. I need to take a proper look at that wound if you won’t take a vial.” With that, the Executioner got to his feet, crossing to the door with a few long strides. There, he paused, glancing back to his companion. “Boots off, you are taking it easy for a while now.” And left through the door.

      Once he’d gone, the Hunter groaned again into his hands before lowering them- casting his mismatched gaze around the room slowly. He removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. He still felt- _numb_ , truthfully, but whatever state he slipped into was something further than he’d like for anyone to have seen. Still, Alfred didn’t seem bothered by it, not even slightly, and had- evidenced from where the Hunter was- carried him to the Executioner’s home. He surely didn’t remember walking there, in any event, though it was possible he had. Still… Shoulders slumped, and suddenly he was very aware of the pain in his left one. The past few-- hours? Maybe? Seemed far away and hazy in his mind.

      The Hunter sighed through his nose as he removed his boots, setting them on the floor beside the bed- then he stood and gingerly removed his jacket, followed by the vest beneath and even the button up below that. Eyes fell to the bandages on his shoulder; he was lucky he found Alfred- not that he wouldn’t have woken back up in the Dream, but he was quite certain that the reprieve he found there wouldn’t have done much for his head. It was a tricky thing, balancing the Hunter’s Dream with the reality he faced in Yharnam. He had the Doll for a companion there, and the messengers who didn’t speak but always seemed so delighted to see him… and sometimes Gehrman was around to talk to, but it wasn’t the same as being _here_.

                                                                                      Here.

       A pause in his melancholy train as he looked around the room once more- it was nice. Very nice, and spacious too. Aside from the bed he stood next to, there was a lovely dark wood desk, a few plush-looking armchairs, a bookshelf overflowing with books, and a hearth… Damn. Alfred had a really nice room. Tilting his head back, the Hunter looked up to the ceiling, then followed the line to the door Alfred had left through- on another wall was another door, likely to a washroom. The Hunter wasn’t sure he’d even been in such a nice bedroom before. Curiously, he made his way to the desk- it was ornate, drawers filled with parchment, envelopes, wax and a signet ring, matches in another… Were he a cat, he would be in danger. He continued to browse through the blonde’s desk, pausing when a thought popped into his head that he _shouldn’t_ snoop through his friend’s stuff.

      Reluctantly, he returned to the bed, sitting on the edge once more. He just needed to wait until the Executioner returned. His body protested the position though, and the Hunter found himself shifting to lay down, sighing at how _soft_ the pillow was. Absently, fingers curled into the blanket he laid upon, tugging the fabric before releasing it again. The motion continued on until his eyes betrayed him, closing- he only needed to rest them for a moment, that was all.

      But when Alfred returned with his supplies, he found that the Hunter was asleep, and could not bear to wake him- at least a little rest would likely do the other man some good. Alfred set the supplies on his desk, moving to get a fire going in the fireplace. Something to keep the room a little warmer while his friend slept soundly on top of the blankets. Lucky was he, Alfred had more than a spare blanket in the closet, for those particularly troublesome nights. He retrieved one, bringing it back and draping it gently over his companion before grabbing another and sitting in one of the armchairs beside the fireplace.

                                                                                The outside world could wait a little longer- for now, they both needed their rest.


End file.
